


Brilliant

by hagstrom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Grieving Sherlock, M/M, Sherlock Holmes's Retirement, sussex cottage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9773636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagstrom/pseuds/hagstrom
Summary: “You decide, if I go first”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Once more, thanks to capt_facepalm (Check her brilliant fics at her lj!), for betaing these things.
> 
> This too, was written as a response for the 2012 watson-woes comm challenge on lj that goes on in july, the fourth prompt, but I believe I wrote this later than the 4th. The prompt was:
> 
> “Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” -- A.A. Milne
> 
> I think that year my participation was going strong and then inspiration left me.

John wanted to be cremated but after that he couldn’t care less what happened to his ashes; “You decide, if I go first” had been his answer, when Sherlock wanted to talked about it. Of course, it had been asked after a particularly gruesome case, that involved a couple being murdered by a jealous neighbor, and their remains burned beyond recognition, so perhaps it was predictable that John wasn't too keen on the subject.

 

After some years in retirement, at that idyllic cottage in Sussex, one day while he was tending to his bees and John was assessing what new flowers to plant, without warning, John gave a choked cry and fainted.

They spent that night at the hospital, while Sherlock entertained a seemingly healthy man and called to everyone who John loved or cared for. Most of them were to arrive the next morning, after hearing the news from Sherlock’s voice; for if Sherlock was calling and not texting, that was alarming on its own.

 

I’ve got something for you…I wrote it years ago, when we thought that pneumonia was going to be the end of me.” John looked perfectly well; just the signs of age showing that were normal in any man of 75 years old. Sherlock didn’t understand why they were at the hospital at all. John was fine.

“It’s unnecessary. You’re more than fine”

“Oh I know. I just want you to know that whatever happens, when it happens, today, in a month or the next decade, you can search inside my old laptop, Zoolander style. Just saying”.

“Who? John this is ridi--”

“Yes, yes it’s just ridiculous blah blah, Now get me up dear, I need to pee and I’m not about to use that bloody thing.”

"Sometimes you're so romantic John, I'd never how I could resist your charm for so long" said the detective, supporting his doctor. John had laugh at that, but Sherlock had seen the hint of sadness on his face and the feeling of unease settled deeper into his chest and lungs, as cold clay threatening to spread.

The beekeeper tried his best to shake the feeling.

 

But of course John was not fine and they both knew it. 

Not long after that, Sherlock was holding the old envelope found exactly where John had told him it would be. How the ex-soldier knew he would never find it before in some fit of boredom, was a mystery.

On the outside of the envelope it was written: “Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and– well that last bit it’s unnecessary, I think you’re aware of just how brilliant you are.”

The letter itself -of several pages long- was the only reason that kept him from following John to the grave as swiftly as he would have follow Lestrade to a promising crime scene.

-

 

He stared at the cozy chair beside him. 

Mere hours ago had passed since he had received John in diamond form. He could not help thinking that was fitting.

The detective sighed and reached for the wooden case on the table; an ancient pipe rested there, found in the small cellar of their cottage when they first moved. John had bought some loose tobacco but never really got around using it, no doubt fearing that would rekindle Sherlock's fondness for cigarettes. 

 

After a brief struggle, he managed to get the first puffs of smoke from it. His eyes drifted closed and the cold clay, which had settled like cement throughout the whole ordeal, finally fractured. 

Amidst the tears, he finally understood what was to have a broken heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I edited this, so it's not exactly the version you could find over at lj, but I hope it's better. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy this!


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